Another Weekend

I'm running a little late on this blog entry. No matter, what goes around comes around, I guess.

Last weekend was the second in a row that Merle and I went to the cabin for some concert prep. I didn't hit it quite as hard this time around, since I don't want the set list to feel tiresome when I get it to the stage next week. I resisted just playing the set list over and over, in lieu of grasping for just about anything else to play and sing, so as to keep trying to aspire to performance level in my hands and vocal cords. I'll have just one more weekend at the cabin to really go over the show tooth by tooth before the magic night itself. This past weekend, therefore, felt a little more leisurely. I took more time to hike, nap and even read between having a guitar in my lap. And, it was all good.

In an effort to get my money's worth out of the unfair, punitive taxes I pay on my property, I decided to take a good hike in the woods with Merle, a first for him. We went up Peterson Hill and then out along the neighbor's field road, which they graciously give me permission to do, and eventually to the southern most ridge top woods of my 50 acres of woody hillside. I've been thinking these past months about hiking up there with my Frost River canoe pack full of necessary, minimal provisions, a small tent and a blanket, and doing a sort of "Survivorman" night. The problem is that most everything up there is on an incline, and I was pretty sure I remembered a tiny spot, overlooking the river and valley that was almost level and just big enough for a small tent or two.

We found the spot. And , I think it's a doable, fun plan. I'd like to let it get a little greener before I follow through, and, I believe it would be prudent to go up there in advance with a lopper and clear out some of the little, scrubby prickly ash that contaminates the site. That would mean I could avoid having to carry the big tool with me on the day of the adventure.

Needless to say, Merle loved the time in the woods, and I loved being there with him, exploring and thinking of how much I enjoy calling that land mine, taxes and all. After a couple of hours of woods time, we made our way back to the cabin and the guitars that were waiting there. I put a few hours in playing some old favorites and just a few tunes from the set list. Then, it seemed like the time to read a little, maybe get my eyes a little sleepy and then nod off for a little nap. I settled in on the sectional couch next to Merle with The Nasty Bits, a book by former chef and Travel Channel celebrity Anthony Bourdain. I don't know what it is, maybe his cynical sense of humor or, his stylish sense of writing about something as passionate as food and the food service industry, but Bourdain is one of my favorite guys. I'd say, if you asked me who I would most like to travel for a week with on a food and drink orgy, it would be him. Maybe he would even let me call him Tony.

The read is good. He cracks me up. And, my eyes do get heavy and eventually I go horizontal, lying down with Merle curled up at my side and I fall into a light sleep to the sound of the seasonal early birds, the red-winged blackbirds, robins, our resident phoebe and a few hearty winter carryovers like chickadees and blue jays. I am interrupted only occasionally as I snore myself awake, and then doze back into the cloudy mindset of an afternoon snooze. It's heaven, really.

The nap turns into almost an hour. Awesome, I think to myself. Getting up, I turned to the kitchen and put together a simple meal of sandwich with leftover pork loin, kettle chips, a grape tomato salad with a dollop of cottage cheese, and a cold bottle of Guinness stout. It is simple, but so very good, because anything you eat at the cabin tastes better, especially if washed down with a cold Guinness.

After the communion, I took my Nick Lucas Special to the porch and sat in my little fiddling rocker and played guitar for awhile, mostly finger picking stuff. Not much singing. Merle stuck his nose in the air and just enjoyed the smell of being in the woods. This is pretty much how things went through the day and into the night. Bourdain, Nick Lucas, snack...you know, no major, world-changing events, just me and my cabin time. Merle and I went to bed in the loft after midnight, I myself, feeling like the day had been productive.

Next morning, it was all about Raisin Bran and fresh coffee at first. I quickly turned to the need for music and started playing after that. Then, Merle and I needed our morning walk, so we went afoot and took a break. Returning from the morning migration, I made one more cup of strong coffee and settled back in with Tony. More good prose from the king of caustic.

Along around four o'clock, I noticed Merle's ears perk up and I turned and looked out the window only to see that my buddy Riley had just pulled in. He had come to fish and told me he knew I needed to rehearse and that he wouldn't distract me. Actually, I had probably played as much as I wanted to that day, and I told him to go trout fish and when he got back I would put on a real spread for him.

A few hours later, when he returned, I had supper just about ready. I had warmed chops of leftover, grilled pork loin with some garlic; designed and executed a lovely dark green salad with thinly sliced onion and red bell pepper, dressed with a tart, homemade vinaigrette; gently cooked some sliced carrots with sweet sweated onions; and then, of course, I also made Riley's favorite, cabin potatoes, to be served with a delicious glop of sour cream.

Oh, cabin potatoes. So simple and so wonderful. Heat your oven to 350. Cut your washed potatoes in half lengthwise, skins on, and slather them with olive oil. Salt and pepper. Then, and here's the trick, place them cut side down in a preheated, oiled cast iron skillet. Bake until brown, gorgeous and crispy. Usually, at least an hour. So, we ate like kings again. And, we talked about fishing and music and birds of prey and dogs and small town politics, among other fare.

After dinner, Riley played my Nick Lucas for a good while and told me that when I die, that's the one he wants. Then, he asked me to play something, maybe a Neil Young song, if I had one up my sleeve. I grabbed my Guild F-40, which I keep tuned a full step low, and sang Sugar Mountain. That led to more music. When we realized it was really late, we hit the rack.

Riley was up and gone early to get to work on time. Another day with a few more good cabin memories to file away. Not bad for a couple of old guys and a resuce dog.